CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 10
Carter
“I miss you too, my little crumb cake. You’re my favorite girl, you know that?”
The words leave my mouth with a smile as I lean against the window frame, watching the storm pound against the beach in angry waves. The lights flicker.
My daughter giggles on the other end of the line. “I love you, Daddy. Can you bring me back a seashell?”
I chuckle. “You got it. Pink, purple, sparkly—I’ll find the prettiest one on this island for the prettiest girl I know.”
Then the sound of footsteps. Fast, furious. The door swings open.
And there she is.
Ivy stands in the doorway, rain-damp hair clinging to her cheeks, eyes blazing. Her jaw tightens when she hears my voice—and I know immediately she’s jumped to the wrong conclusion.
“Oh wow,” she spits, arms crossed. “That didn’t take long.”
“Ivy—” I start.
She holds up a hand. “Don’t. ‘You’re my favorite girl’? Are you serious right now?” She laughs bitterly and turns on her heel, already storming off toward the bedroom.
I follow without thinking. “Ivy, wait.”
She’s halfway to slamming the bedroom door when I catch her arm—not hard, just enough to stop her.
Her skin is warm. Her breath comes fast. Fury practically radiates off her.
She’s standing directly in front of me, her short 5’3” frame staring up and firing off at me.
“Oh, I see how it is,” she snaps, spinning on me. “I’m the tornado—your wild vacation mess tearing up your room and your life—and she’s your little crumb cake? What, are you just handing out nicknames so you can keep track of where you met us? Storm girl in paradise, sweet treat back home?”
She jerks her arm free, glaring. “Let me guess—crumb cake’s waiting for you in some picture-perfect small town while I’m here playing the distraction. And what even is that? Crumb cake? Seriously? What is she, five?”
I open my mouth, but she barrels on, rolling her eyes. “God, I can’t believe I let myself think—”
“She’s six, actually,” I say quietly.
Ivy freezes.
I hold her gaze, voice even. “Her name’s Laura. She’s my daughter.”
“What?” Ivy’s breath catches. She looks from the picture to me, guilt flickering across her face. “Oh my god.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “You didn’t know.”
“No,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I just—God, I’m sorry. I thought…” She trails off, visibly crumpling. “I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not. You were hurt. I get it. So that’s why you’ve been so distant?”
“Yes,” she finally admits, blushing. She reaches out and takes my hand, her grip soft but earnest. “The other night… I overheard you on the phone. You said ‘I love you’ and ‘I miss you’ and—I don’t know, it just hit me wrong. I was embarrassed, angry… I didn’t know how to react.”
She pauses, looking away before pressing my hand to her chest—right over her heartbeat. It’s rapid.
Her voice dips, shaky now. “Now I understand. God, Carter. I’m so sorry.”
The moment stretches between us—heavy, but not in a bad way. Her eyes search mine, full of guilt and something else.
“No,” I say, voice dropping an octave as I step into her space, “I should’ve told you about my daughter. At dinner. Or maybe when we were sipping cocktails and calling you my wife. That would’ve been the perfect time to mention you were also a stepmom for the night.”
She lets out a breathy laugh, but there’s something nervous behind it. Guilt. Curiosity. Want.
“I messed that up,” I murmur, reaching for her face. My thumb brushes her cheek, tracing the droplets clinging to her skin. She’s warm underneath, even though she’s dripping wet.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. So I do.
My hand trails down her side. Over the swell of her hip. Around the curve of her ass. I cup it firmly, letting her feel how much I’ve been holding back.
She gasps, her eyes locked on mine.I lean in, so close my lips graze hers when I speak. “I don’t want anyone else, Ivy. It’s you. It’s been you since the second you stormed into my life like a goddamn tornado.”
She trembles. My cock throbs against the seam of her jeans, hard and aching.
I press into her, letting her feel it. Her breath catches. Her lips part just enough for me to slip my tongue against them—just a taste—before I nip her bottom lip, tugging it gently between my teeth. She moans, soft and sharp, her nails digging into my forearm.
I slide my other hand up her spine, under her shirt and I grab hold of her nipple, pressing down, twisting it until she moans. Her skin is hot, slick, begging to be touched.
“Tell me to stop,” I whisper, my mouth brushing her ear. “Or I’m going to ruin you tonight.”
For a second, she doesn’t breathe.
She presses a palm to my chest, not pushing hard, just enough to put space between us.
“I’m sorry…” Her voice is husky. Shaky. Not no. But not yes.
And that pause? That tiny moment of hesitation? It’s the only thing that keeps me from dragging her to the bed, the couch, the kitchen counter and showing her exactly what I meant.
I take a step back, chest rising and falling with restraint. Barely.
She bites her lip, like she’s trying to steady herself, too.
I smile slowly, darkly. “You’re soaked,” I murmur, dragging my gaze down her body. “You should change before you catch a chill.”
Her eyes flick to mine—wide, restless, turned on as hell. She doesn’t say a word as she turns and disappears into the bedroom.
But I catch the way her hips sway just a little harder as she walks away.
Like a challenge.
Like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
When she emerges from the bedroom, clad in fresh clothes that still cling in all the right places, I swear my brain short-circuits.
She’s wearing a soft, slate-gray tank top—thin, braless, and clinging to her like a second skin. The cotton hugs her curves, the fabric dipping low enough to tease the swell of her cleavage and stretch tight across her full, high breasts. Her nipples press through slightly from the cool air, and it takes everything in me not to groan.
She’s pulled on a pair of fitted black lounge shorts that sit high on her waist and ride just a little too high on her thighs, revealing smooth, toned legs that go on for days. The waistband cinches just enough to show off her hourglass shape—thick in the hips, soft in the right places, strong everywhere else. Unapologetically stunning. The kind of woman who fills a room without even trying. The kind of woman who makes you forget your own damn name.
Her hair is still damp from the storm, wavy strands falling over one shoulder. There’s a tiny droplet sliding down the side of her neck, and my eyes track it like it owes me something.
She meets my gaze—and freezes. Like she can feel the heat radiating off me from across the room.
“I didn’t have much else to change into,” she mutters, tugging at the edge of her shorts like it might suddenly make them less illegal.
I step forward slowly, jaw tight. “Don’t apologize.”
She lifts her chin, trying to be defiant. But her breath catches when I stop in front of her, close enough to touch, to taste.
“Damn,” I murmur, eyes dragging over every inch of her. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
Her lips twitch—somewhere between a smirk and a challenge. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d use something faster than a tank top.”
I lean in, my voice low and wicked. “That’s the problem. You don’t need anything else.”
She walks past me without another word, hips swaying just enough to keep me tortured, and drops onto the couch.
The storm rages outside. Sheesh, so the weather certainly escalated quickly. I was walking to the lobby and everything was closed due to bad weather, but it wasn’t even raining until I was walking back.
“If you told me you were going, I’d tell you. They shut everything down today and most likely tomorrow as well.”
Her brows knit. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s supposed to hit hard later today and roll through the weekend.” I nod toward the door. “They dropped off extra sandbags, towels, food, water—basically everything to bunker down.”
Her eyes widen. “So… we’re officially stuck.”
I give her a crooked smile. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
She grabs the remote, flips on the TV, and settles into the cushions like she owns the place.
“Thought we could use a distraction,” she says casually, curling one leg beneath her.
I sit beside her, keeping a respectful distance—but not too much.
We end up watching some crime docuseries, the kind with moody narration and grainy surveillance footage. At first, we’re quiet. Focused. But then she shifts, her bare knee brushing against mine.
She doesn’t move it.
Later, my arm drapes casually across the back of the couch and her hair brushes against it—soft, damp strands like silk. When she leans back, her shoulder barely grazes my chest. Her body heat bleeds into mine. I don’t pull away.
A little while in, she laughs at something a little too dark to be funny, and I glance down.
Her lips are parted. Her tank’s riding up again.
She catches me looking and arches a brow. “You okay over there?”
I smile lazily. “Just thinking about some poison Ivy.”
“Mmm. Hot.”
The TV clicks off. The lights flicker once… then die completely.
Blackout.
The only sound now is the storm.
And the water.
We both turn our heads at the same time—just as a thin line of it begins creeping across the floor from the front of the unit.
“Shit,” I mutter, already on my feet. I rush over and start unplugging everything. “We need to get everything up, off the ground. Now.”
She’s already moving—grabbing power banks, phones, tablets. I unplug the TV, the lamps, the mini-fridge. Ivy packs up snacks, water bottles, and extra towels.
“The bedroom’s higher ground,” I say. “It’s sealed tighter, too.”
She nods, eyes wide but steady. “Let’s go.”
We retreat to the bedroom, arms full of everything we might need: chargers, granola bars, water, flashlights, her laptop, my backup power bank, and a Bluetooth speaker in case we need music or white noise to drown out the storm.
Once inside, I wedge a towel under the door just in case.
Then we’re there. In the dark. In bed.
Together.
I lean against the headboard, watching her as she curls up under the blanket beside me, her face still slightly flushed from the scramble.
“Comfortable?” I ask, voice low and thick.
She shrugs, adjusting her pillow without looking at me. “I’ve been in worse places.”
I smirk. “You’re lucky. I come with snacks, survival gear… and excellent company.”
She glances at me, amused. “You come with attitude, ego, and a very unhealthy obsession with peanut butter pretzels.”
And fuck me, she’s perfect.
The storm may have shut everything else down. But between us?
It’s just getting started.
The wind shrieks against the bungalow, rattling windows. Rain lashes the walls like it’s trying to claw its way inside. But in here, the bedroom is still.
Still—and thick with heat.
The emergency lantern casts a soft, flickering glow that dances across her skin as she shifts beneath the blanket. Her tank top has ridden up again, exposing a strip of bare stomach. I catch a glimpse of smooth skin, the delicate dip of her waist, before I force my gaze back to the ceiling.
We’re both lying on the bed, propped up by pillows, a few inches of mattress between us—safe, polite, excruciating inches.
I feel her. Every breath. Every twitch. Every time the blanket brushes her leg against mine.
She turns to face me. “What time is it?”
I glance at my watch. “Almost midnight.”
She lets out a soft exhale. “Feels later.”
“Storm’ll do that.”
Silence falls again, the kind that isn’t empty. It’s thick. Loaded. Electric.
She rolls onto her back, one arm flung over her head, exposing more of her side, her ribcage rising and falling slow and steady. The fabric of her tank is loose now, and nearly see-through. My throat tightens.
“You cold?” I ask, because I need to say something—anything—to keep from touching her.
She glances at me, eyes unreadable. “A little.”
I lift the blanket slightly. “Come closer, then.”
She hesitates.
Then moves.
She slides over, slow and cautious, settling against my side. Her leg brushes mine. Her hip curves into me.
I drape the blanket around her, arm tucked behind her shoulders. I keep it safe. Still.
But my entire body is wired, alert, aware of every part of her pressing against mine. Her thigh against my hip. Her head near my collarbone. Her scent—clean skin and faint coconut shampoo—floods my senses.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She nods. “Yeah.”
Another beat.
“You’re tense,” she says softly.
I chuckle. “You think?”
She shifts slightly, her hand brushing my abdomen, accidentally—or not. My muscles tighten under her touch. Her fingers linger.
“You’re warm,” she murmurs.
“Should I move?” I ask.
“No,” she says, almost instantly.
We lie like that, too close and not close enough.
Her fingers trail absently along my chest now, soft strokes that make it nearly impossible to stay still. Her breath is warm against my neck. My hand, tucked around her shoulder, inches lower—fingertips grazing the bare skin of her upper arm.
If I moved my hand just a little more, I could skim the curve of her waist. Maybe her hip. Maybe—
She shifts again, curling into me.
I close my eyes.
This is torture.
This is heaven.
This is the storm before the storm.
“Ivy,” I say, my voice a raw rasp in the dark. “If you don’t want anything to happen tonight… you need to stop touching me.”
Silence.
Then her fingers go still on my chest. But she doesn’t move away.
Instead, she whispers, “Goodnight, Carter.”
Not a yes.
Not a no.
Just enough to keep me burning.
I stay frozen in place, jaw tight, every nerve in my body screaming—but I don’t cross the line.
Not yet.
She takes a few breaths like she wants to speak but doesn’t. “What’s on your mind?” I ask trying to keep my mind off of her body.
“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” she says softly. “But maybe it’s a good reminder. We’re not… anything. And we should probably keep it that way.”
Right. Friends.
Except she’s barefoot. Wearing that. In my bed. The candlelight’s licking her skin like it wants to devour her. And I’m sitting here, trying not to reach for what I want more than air.
“Sure,” I say, my voice low. “Just friends.”
She turns her head. “That’s what’s best.”
“Totally. Very grown-up. Very… rational.”
I shift under the blanket. She does too. Our bodies brush—barely—and my cock is already screaming for her.
“Don’t accidentally cuddle me in your sleep,” she warns, smirking.
“Oh, I’m planning to sleep rigidly on my side,” I murmur. “Totally platonic. Zero contact.”
We both lie.
The second her leg grazes mine, it’s like striking a match in a room full of gasoline.
She tenses. “Carter…”
I turn toward her, close enough to feel her breath. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“My name. Say it like that again.”
“Carter,” she whispers. And I lose it.
I roll over, catching her mouth with mine in a kiss that doesn’t ask for permission. It demands. It’s not sweet. It’s a collision. Tongue. Teeth. Hands. Lust. All of it.
She gasps against me, and I take the sound into my lungs like oxygen.
I slide my tongue between her lips, deepen the kiss, pour every ounce of pent-up frustration and aching desire into it. Her fingers grip my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll stop. I won’t. Not tonight. I pull her underneath me, her thighs parting instinctively as my body settles between hers.
“Ivy,” I rasp against her neck, “if you want me to stop, you have to tell me now.” She arches up, chest pressed to mine. “Please… don’t stop.”
Her fingers tangle in my hair. Mine slip beneath her tank top, palming hot, bare skin. Her body arches into me as I drag my lips down her throat, over her collarbone, marking a path with my mouth.
I slide her shorts and then her panties down her legs, slowly watching her unravel beneath my hands.
She’s wet. So wet.
I run two fingers through her heat and groan. “You’re soaked for me.”
Her breath catches. “Carter…”
I pull her shorts down slowly, watching her bite her lip as I peel them away. She’s already soaked.
“You’re so ready for me,” I growl, running two fingers through her slick heat before sliding one inside. Then another. She gasps, moaning, rocking against my hand like she can’t help herself.
“I’m…”
“Shh,” I whisper against her skin. “I want to taste you first.”
I press a kiss to her inner thigh, then another, dragging my mouth closer, teasing her—until her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me where she needs me.
I bury my mouth between her legs and smell the sweet scent of her pussy before sucking her clit into my mouth, soft and slow. My fingers work her open while I continue stroking her with my tongue until I make her cry out.
Her hips jerk, her fingers twisting in the sheets. I suck, lick, tease—until her thighs are trembling and her voice is weak. She’s trembling when I finally crawl back up and kiss her, deep and filthy, tasting her on my tongue.
“I need you,” she pants.
“I’m yours,” I rasp. “Every fucking inch.”
I push inside her, watching her eyes widen as I fill her. She’s tight. Warm. Perfect.
Her nails scrape down my back as I set a rhythm, deep and slow. She moans into my mouth, her body rising to meet mine with every thrust.
But I need more.
I flip her onto her knees, pressing my palm to the small of her back as I slide back inside. She’s wetter now. Hotter. Fucking ecstasy.
I reach between her legs and stroke her clit, teasing her to the edge.
“Fuck, Ivy. You feel insane.”
She whimpers, back arching.
“You love this, don’t you?” I growl. “This cock. This stretch. This storm outside while I fuck you senseless inside.”
She can’t answer—just moans and nods, her body writhing as I slam into her again, deeper, harder.
“Bite down if it’s too much,” I say, offering her my wrist.
She grabs it, teeth sinking into my skin as I pound her from behind, holding her hips like she’s mine. Because right now, she fucking is.
I grip her throat—not tight, just enough to let her feel me, control humming between us like electricity.
“I want to ruin you for every other man,” I groan. “I want to claim every part of you so no one else can touch you without you thinking of me.”
Her body tightens. Her orgasm’s coming fast—she’s gasping, shaking, biting down again.
I pull out almost all the way—just the tip hovering at her entrance.
“Beg,” I whisper.
“Make me,” she dares, breathless.
I flip her onto her back, grab her by the hips, and fuck her against the wall. Her legs wrap around me. Her moans are sinful.
And then she screams my name as she shatters.
And I let go, spilling into her with a growl, losing myself completely in the heat, the chaos, the woman who just broke me in half and made me love it.
I don’t know how long we stay tangled in the wreckage of what just happened.
Her head rests on my chest, her legs still hooked around my waist. My hand moves slowly up and down her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine, slick with sweat. The room is silent except for the sound of our breathing and the occasional crackle of thunder in the distance.
She lifts her head, eyes dark and dazed. Her lips are kiss-bruised, swollen, parted. Her hair’s a mess. Her skin is flushed everywhere I touched—everywhere I took.
And I’ve never seen anything sexier.
“You okay?” I ask, still catching my breath.
She nods. Then smirks.
“You’ve got stamina.”
That little spark? That flash in her eyes?
It snaps something loose in me.
Because I’m not done.
Not even close.
I roll us over in one smooth movement until she’s underneath me again, her gasp catching in her throat as I slide between her thighs.
Her body’s already slick. Warm. Welcoming.
But I don’t go straight to her pussy—not yet.
I slide down her body instead, kissing a trail from her collarbone to the space between her breasts, then lower. I take my time, tongue swirling around her navel before dipping just below it, hands gripping her thighs to keep her wide open for me.
“Carter…” she breathes, hips arching.
I glance up, eyes locked on hers. “Just relax.”
Then I bury my face between her legs again.
She’s still sensitive, still trembling, but I lick her slowly—long, dragging strokes from her entrance to her clit. She moans, one hand diving into my hair, the other gripping the pillow like she’s about to float out of her body.
I suck gently. Then harder. Then I flick my tongue in a rhythm that makes her thighs shake.
“Fuck—Carter, please—”
“Please what?” I tease, sliding two fingers inside her, curling them until she gasps. “Use your words.”
She whimpers, biting her lip. “Please make me come.”
That’s all I need.
I work her with my mouth and fingers until her thighs clamp around my head and she comes with a cry that bounces off the walls, her body bowing up off the bed.
And when she collapses back down, panting, I crawl up and kiss her—deep and messy—while she’s still moaning into my mouth. I grab her legs, hook them around my shoulders, and slam into her with one powerful thrust.
She screams.
But she wants it.
Her nails rake down my back as I drive into her, deeper, harder, setting a brutal rhythm.
“Carter—damn—fuck—yes—”
Her voice breaks every time I hit the spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back.
“Look at me,” I growl, hand on her jaw. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”
She does. Her gaze locked on mine, pupils blown wide, lips parted like she’s trying to breathe but can’t quite remember how.
I shift her legs down, wrap one around my waist, and lift the other high onto my shoulder, bending her open until I’m angled so deep she sobs.
I grind into her slowly, circling my hips, dragging every inch of my cock over that spot until she’s writhing beneath me, chanting my name like a safe word.
And then I stop.
She blinks. “Why’d you stop?”
I don’t answer. I slide out.
She starts to protest, but I grab her waist and flip her onto her stomach.
“Get on your knees,” I command, voice pure gravel.
She obeys without hesitation.
I grab her hips, angle her just right, and sink back into her from behind.
She cries out—raw, unfiltered pleasure.
I pull her back onto me with every thrust, her ass smacking against my thighs, the sound filthy and perfect.
“You feel that?” I pant, grabbing her hair, pulling her up so her back arches into me. “That’s me. Every inch inside of you.”
She tries to respond, but I slap her ass once, firm and fast, and she gasps instead.
I reach around and rub her clit, fast and firm, and she comes hard—again—her entire body shuddering against mine, her scream muffled in the sheets as I finally let go and spill inside her, my grip on her hips bruising.
We collapse together, sweaty and shaking, tangled in the sheets, the storm long forgotten. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence.
Then her voice—small, hoarse, satisfied.
“So… about that peanut butter pretzel obsession…”
I laugh.
And then kiss her again.
She’s limp beneath me, face buried in the pillow, her body flushed, trembling, soaked in sweat and satisfaction. Her thighs are still shaking. My cum is dripping down the inside of her leg.
She’s wrecked.
And I should stop, but I don’t want to.
We must have both fallen asleep after that because I wake up to the sound of a notification on my phone and Ivy is still sleeping.
I should let her sleep, let her breathe, let her come down.
But the way her body molded to mine? The way she screamed my name like it was the only word she remembered? The way she begged without words, clinging to me, soaking my cock like she was made for it?
I’m not done.
Not until she knows she’ll never want anyone else again.
I lean over her, my chest against her back, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear.
“You good?” I ask, voice dark.
She hums, lazy. “Mmm… I can’t move.”
“Too sore?”
She nods, smiling faintly, eyes still closed.
And fuck if that doesn’t make my cock twitch all over again.
“Good,” I whisper, kissing the curve of her shoulder. “Because I’m not finished.”
She opens one eye, barely.
“Carter please…” she says, like it’s both a plea and a dare.
“You can take one more,” I growl, trailing my hand down her spine, over the curve of her ass, slick and flushed from being fucked into submission. “Just one more.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“No, baby,” I murmur, kissing her jaw. “I’m obsessed. With you.”
I nudge her thighs open with my knee. She moans—tired, sore, but already melting again.
“Carter, I’m—”
“Shhh.” I slide my hand between her legs, and she gasps. “You’re still wet for me.”
I move behind her, kneeling on the bed. Her body’s limp, hips tilted just enough. I grip her waist and press the thick head of my cock against her swollen entrance.
“I’m going to ruin you all over again,” I whisper.
And then I push in.
She cries out.
She’s tight.
So much tighter than before—used and sore, and now full of me again. My cock stretches her slowly, every inch dragging against her sensitive walls as she whimpers beneath me.
“I can feel it,” she pants. “You’re—too big—”
“No,” I growl. “You’re perfect. You were made to take me.”
I move slowly. Torturously.
She’s trembling, biting the pillow, sobbing with pleasure as I roll my hips deeper. Deeper.
Her body grips me like it’s never letting go.
“You feel that, Ivy?” I pant, fingers digging into her waist. “That’s mine. You’re mine now.”
She can’t speak. Just nods, moaning, tears slipping from the corner of her eyes—not from pain, but from being overwhelmed. Owned.
I lean over her again, wrapping an arm under her chest and pulling her up, straddling her knees as I fuck her from behind, hard and deep, each thrust sending shockwaves through her overstimulated body.
She screams into the sheets.
I bite her shoulder, her neck, her jaw.
“I want you sore tomorrow,” I whisper, voice ragged. “I want you to feel me every time you walk. Every time you sit. Every time you think.”
“Fuck, Carter—”
“I want your pussy to ache for me.”
She claws at the sheets, legs shaking violently as I slam into her, relentless.
And then she’s coming again—one last shattering orgasm, her voice breaking as her body convulses around me.
I let go too, spilling into her with a broken growl, collapsing over her back, holding her so tight she can barely breathe.
We stay like that.
Breathless.
Ruined.
Silent.
And when I finally slide out, she whimpers. I kiss her shoulder, her cheek, her lips.
She looks up at me, dazed, completely undone.
“I’m never walking again,” she whispers.
I smirk, pulling her close, wrapping her in my arms like I never plan to let her go.
“Good,” I murmur against her skin. “That way no one else can get to you.”
Because she’s mine. And now? She knows it.